James groaned as he pried another chunk of ore from the cavern wall. His body still ached from the boss fight—his missing arm had miraculously regenerated after his respawn outside the cave, but the memory of the pain lingered. His new weapon, the Cursed Blade of the Fallen King, rested at his hip, radiating a faint crimson glow that made him uneasy.
> Quest Updated: Blacksmith’s RequestIron Ore Collected: 6/10
“This better be worth it,” he muttered, slamming the pickaxe into the stone again. Sparks flew as another hunk of ore tumbled to the ground.
After everything he’d been through, returning to a basic fetch quest felt almost insulting. He had died over a dozen times in this cave, suffered agonizing deaths, lost limbs—only to come back and play RuneScape mining simulator?
He exhaled sharply. At least I got something out of it.
James glanced at the cursed blade. He hadn’t dared to use it since picking it up. Every time his fingers brushed the hilt, a strange sensation crept up his spine—like the weapon itself was alive.
> Iron Ore Collected: 8/10
Just two more. Then he’d be done here.
A low rumbling sound echoed through the cave. James froze, gripping his pickaxe tightly. He turned toward the sound, muscles tensed—only to relax slightly when he realized it wasn’t another boss, just… someone swearing under their breath.
His eyebrows raised.
Another player?
James hesitated for a moment before following the sound. As he turned the corner of the cavern, he spotted a lone figure crouched near a pile of broken pickaxes. A girl, maybe around his age, wearing a tattered leather chestpiece and boots that had definitely seen better days. Her dark hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her expression was a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.
> Player Detected: Lyra (Lv. 5)
She was muttering angrily as she inspected her latest broken tool.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she grumbled. “Fifth one. Who the hell thought realistic durability was a good idea in a game?”
James leaned against the cavern wall. “Having fun?”
She jumped, spinning toward him with a dagger in hand. The moment she saw him, she relaxed, but only slightly. Her eyes flicked toward his sword—then widened.
“…You have a cursed item already?”
James glanced at his weapon. The faint glow pulsed, almost in response to her voice.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Killed a boss for it.”
Lyra let out a low whistle. “Damn. Either you’re really good, or really reckless.”
“Bit of both,” James said with a smirk. “What about you? What’s got you so pissed off?”
She scowled, kicking the broken pickaxe at her feet. “I was trying to mine iron, but the tools they give you are garbage. They keep breaking before I can get enough ore to complete my quest.”
James tilted his head. “Wait… are you doing the blacksmith’s quest?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “…Yeah? Why?”
He let out a short laugh. “Same quest. I just finished mining my ore.”
Lyra stared at him, then at the unbroken pickaxe in his hand. “You’re telling me you still have one pickaxe left, and I just went through five?”
James shrugged. “I got lucky, I guess.”
Her expression darkened. “I hate this game.”
James grinned. “Yeah, well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve also been murdered by giant spiders, vampire bats, and a cave ogre that snapped me in half like a twig. So, you know, pros and cons.”
Lyra blinked. “Wait, you’ve died?”
“…Like, a lot.”
She frowned, glancing at his gear again. “Huh. That’s weird. I thought you’d be some pro player or something with that sword.”
“Nope. Just stubborn.”
Lyra crossed her arms. “Alright, Mr. Stubborn. How about you be a good Samaritan and lend me that pickaxe so I don’t have to go all the way back to town?”
James hesitated. It wasn’t like he needed it anymore, but…
“Tell you what,” he said. “You split some of that ore with me, and I’ll let you borrow it.”
Lyra rolled her eyes. “Fine. Deal.”
He tossed her the pickaxe, and she caught it with ease. With a smirk, she turned back to the rock wall and slammed the tool into the stone.
James watched as she worked, noting how natural she seemed at it. Something about her movements felt practiced, like she had done this sort of thing before.
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“So,” he said casually. “You from Earth too?”
She froze mid-swing. Slowly, she turned to him, her expression unreadable.
“…You’re saying that like it’s not obvious.”
James raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I wasn’t sure. For all I know, you could’ve been an NPC.”
Lyra scoffed. “Yeah, because NPCs are this charming.”
James chuckled. “Fair point.”
She went back to mining. A few moments of silence passed before she spoke again.
“…You have any idea how to log out?”
James’s smile faded. He shook his head. “Nope.”
Lyra’s grip on the pickaxe tightened. “Figures.”
James frowned. “You trying to get out of here?”
“I mean, duh,” she said. “This game is insane. Have you seen the death mechanics? That shit hurts. And don’t even get me started on how I lost all my loot when I died.”
James winced. “Oof.”
Lyra sighed, finally collecting her last chunk of ore.
> Iron Ore Collected: 10/10
She turned back to James, handing him the pickaxe. “Thanks. Guess I owe you one.”
James smirked. “I’ll remember that.”
As the two of them made their way back toward the cave entrance, James couldn’t shake the feeling that running into Lyra wasn’t just some random encounter.
Something told him their paths would cross again.
And in a world this brutal… having allies might not be such a bad idea.
----------------------------------------
James and Lyra trudged back to town, their packs heavy with ore. The village of Stonehaven wasn’t much—just a collection of wooden buildings clustered around a central marketplace—but after hours spent in that cave, it felt like civilization. The air smelled of baked bread, sizzling meat, and sweat from overworked NPCs.
The blacksmith’s forge sat at the heart of the village, smoke curling from its chimney. Inside, the blacksmith—a burly, one-eyed man named Garrick Ironhand—stood hunched over an anvil, hammering a red-hot blade. As they approached, he set the hammer down and turned to them, arms crossed.
“You got my ore?” Garrick grunted.
James pulled the iron chunks from his inventory and dumped them onto the counter. The moment he did, his UI lit up.
> Quest Complete: Blacksmith’s RequestRewards: 150 XP, 20 Silver, Basic Iron Chestplate
James barely had time to glance at the new armor before Garrick snatched up the ore and examined it. “Not bad,” the smith muttered. “Still, don’t expect to swing that fancy sword of yours without proper training. This ain’t one of those easy games where you just put points in Strength and suddenly you’re a warrior.”
James bit back a retort. He’d already learned firsthand that this wasn’t one of those easy games.
Lyra handed over her ore as well, completing her quest. As Garrick counted the pieces, James turned to her. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”
She smirked. “If that’s your way of celebrating, be my guest.”
----------------------------------------
The Rusty Tankard was as filthy as its name suggested. The moment James stepped inside, he was hit with the overwhelming scent of ale, sweat, and something that might have been spoiled meat. NPCs and players alike crowded around wooden tables, swapping stories, trading loot, and drowning in booze.
James strolled up to the bar and slapped a silver coin onto the counter. “Strongest thing you got.”
The bartender, a greasy-haired man with a permanent scowl, raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask questions. He poured a thick, dark liquid into a wooden mug and shoved it toward James. The smell alone made his eyes water.
> Item Acquired: Dwarven GutrotEffect: ???
James took a cautious sip—and immediately regretted it. The drink burned his throat like molten lava. He coughed, eyes watering, but a strange warmth spread through his limbs.
“Whoa.”
Lyra, who had just grabbed a seat nearby, raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
James grinned. “That good.”
He took another gulp. Then another. Within minutes, the world started to tilt. His UI flickered erratically, and a new notification popped up.
> Status Effect Gained: Drunken (Moderate)
James snorted. “Alright, so booze does work.”
He flagged the bartender down for another. Then another. And another.
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Two Hours Later…
James had no idea where he was.
His vision swam. The tavern spun in lazy circles. His body felt impossibly heavy, but his mind was floating. At some point, he had tried to stand on a table to make an important speech (about what, he had no clue), only to fall face-first into someone’s soup.
Then came the vomiting.
And the shitting.
A lot of both.
James vaguely remembered collapsing onto the tavern floor, his last conscious thought being this game is too realistic…
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Morning.
Pain.
His head felt like someone had caved it in with a warhammer. His body ached, his throat was drier than a desert, and everything reeked—vomit, ale, and… yeah, let’s not think about the other smell.
“Wake up, dumbass.”
A sharp kick landed against his ribs.
James groaned, peeling open his eyes. Lyra stood over him, arms crossed, a mix of disgust and amusement on her face.
“Ugh… what…” James tried to sit up, but the movement made his stomach churn violently. He barely managed to roll over before throwing up what little remained in his stomach.
Lyra took a step back. “Wow. That’s disgusting.”
James groaned. “What… what happened?”
Lyra smirked. “Well, after you blacked out, some thieves saw an easy target and looted you. You were too drunk to respawn, so they took everything except that.” She nodded toward his hip.
James glanced down. The Cursed Blade of the Fallen King was still strapped to him. Its eerie glow pulsed as if mocking him.
> Inventory Check: Empty.Gold: 0 Silver, 3 Copper.
James swore. “Everything’s gone?”
“Yup. Even your pants.”
James looked down. Yep. No pants. Just his underwear. Fantastic.
He rubbed his temples. “I hate this game.”
Lyra chuckled. “You said that last night, too. Right before face-planting into your own puke.”
James groaned again. “Please just kill me.”
Lyra grinned. “Tempting, but nah. Get up. You smell like shit.”
James forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly. “Where are my pants?”
“Not my problem.”
James exhaled sharply. He had lost everything—except for the one thing he couldn’t get rid of. And now, he was broke, hungover, and standing half-naked in the middle of a disgusting tavern.
New plan:
1. Get pants.
2. Find those thieves.
3. Make them suffer.
Lyra smirked. “So, what’s the plan now, oh mighty warrior?”
James cracked his neck, his headache already starting to fade. “First? A bath. Then? I think it’s time I tested just how powerful this sword really is.”
He wasn’t about to let some random thieves walk away with his gear.
They had no idea who they’d just pissed off.